


A Lonely Place for Living

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Necromancy, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 14:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Batman needs a Robin. Bruce Wayne needs his son. Tim Drake needs... he needs...





	A Lonely Place for Living

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS IS A ONE SHOT.** There will be no more. **It is finished.** For serious, this time.
> 
> Thanks to Nykyrianne for the beta. <3

The thing is…

The thing is, Batman _needs_ a Robin.

 

* * *

 

Tim has been forging emails from his parents to the Board of Drake Industries for nearly six months when Jason Todd runs away to Ethiopia and comes back in a pine box. He spends a week watching Batman spiral out of control, growing more violent, more reckless.

His current school is on break and everyone is expected to go home and be with their family while the dorms are busy being fumigated for something or another. Instead of spending it rattling around the empty brownstone, he takes a train to New York City, looking for Dick Grayson.

He isn't there, but that doesn't stop Tim, and he eventually tracks Dick down at the circus, delivers an envelope of photos and a proposal.

Dick doesn't want to be Robin again. He tells Tim to go away, to leave it be, let Batman burn himself out.

Tim… can't.

He takes a cab to Wayne Manor when he gets back to Gotham, asks to see Mr. Wayne about something important, gets the butler instead. The old man listens as Tim shows him the pictures and explains. Explains about the violence, the blood, the risks. How there needs to be a Robin, a cheerful presence to help keep Batman grounded and centered and stable.

Mr. Pennyworth shakes his head. He says it's not just a matter of Robin, that something else is missing too. Something important, something crucial. Tilting his head to the side, Tim listens to the words that aren't said and understands.

Batman may need a Robin, but Bruce Wayne _needs_ his son.

 

* * *

 

He isn't sure how to proceed and he would be stuck there, except that he finally gets a response when he contacts his parents that evening. It's the first he's heard from them in ages, even though he's been trying for nearly as long as he's been forging the emails.

Tim keeps his questions simple, to the point. "How are you?"

_Fine. Anxious._

Well, not the happy response he was hoping for, but unsurprising considering the circumstances. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

_Book. 5 case, 3 shelf, 7 from L. Red. P 257._

He stands, paces out five bookcases over from the door, drags over a chair so he can reach the third shelf from the top, and pulls out the seventh book from the left, recognizing it by its red spine. He opens it, flips to page 257, and nearly drops it.

Swallowing, he goes back to his parents. "What. What do you need me to do?"

_Your choice. Only 1 returns._

Several minutes pass and then, almost as an afterthought, they add:

_Love you._

Which is, heh. A funny thing for them to communicate, but he supposes there's a first time for everything.

He stares at the spirit board, then at the book. Thinks about the parents who were never really there, who always kept their distance, who transferred him to a new school every year, discouraged him from forming friendships. About the years of never quite meeting expectations, always falling short, never ever being quite good enough. All the carefully calculated measures taken to ensure that he would constantly feel a need to please, to do better. The emptiness that had threatened to consume him from the inside-out before he finally found something, someone to fill it with.

Only one can come back. His choice who.

"Sorry, Mom, Dad. But, hey—thanks for helping me figure something out." He puts away the board, shoves the book in his backpack, and gathers supplies from jars and boxes displayed around the workroom. He slings the pack on his back, grabs a shovel from the mud room, and heads out to where his bike is.

It's been nearly a month, here's hoping he's not too late.

 

* * *

 

He's too late.

Or, well. Someone else has beaten him to the punch. The sod is torn up, the earth overturned, and when he shovels dirt away, the coffin is already broken open. Somewhere out in this big wide world, someone already has Jason Todd's body, probably planning to do something horrible and unscrupulous with it, something that will break Batman's heart and dirty everything that Robin has ever stood for.

But. But the earth is freshly turned, hasn't even been fixed by the groundskeepers yet. As luck would have it, Tim seems to have only just missed the thieves. Depending on how much time has passed, there's still a chance he can fix this. Maybe he can't fix it quite the way he originally planned to, but there are other pages in the book, and 249 looks awfully promising when he examines it.

He fills a ziplock baggie with some of the dirt from the grave, rescues a torn scrap of black cloth from where it's snagged on the shattered remains of the coffin, then shoves everything back in his pack and rides his bike home.

Page 249 is promising, but it's also a lot more complicated. He'll have to make some plans, set some things into action. Put together an information packet, probably. School starts back up again in a couple days, but, well.

It's not like that matters to him in the long run.

 

* * *

 

Tim likes to plan ahead, but there are some things you can't plan for, among them graverobbers preempting you. The first day he spends putting together as much information as he thinks could be relevant, and for once his parents' methods of raising him work in his favor. There are no friends he has to account for, no girlfriends, no boyfriends, no clubs, activities, nothing. Just this year’s class schedule and teachers, a map of the campus, a short dossier on his barely there roommate. When he finishes, he prints it out, puts it in a manila folder, shoves it in his backpack along with the envelope Dick Grayson didn't care about.

DI requires a bit more tediousness, but that's mainly to ensure that things are managed correctly during the transition period. He sets up a series of emails, writes a short program to ensure they're delivered over a believable span of time. Double-checks the will, that it still states all of Jack and Janet Drake's property and assets will pass to their only child upon their deaths. He's not so concerned about the money, but it's important to make sure there's nothing about dissolving the company. There are a lot of people employed at DI, and they're all his responsibility, after all.

He finishes DI stuff by lunchtime, shuts down his computer and unplugs it. Scrounges around in the kitchen cupboards and comes up with a can of deviled ham and one of green beans and makes a very unsatisfactory meal for himself. Since he only had the one week off from school and half of it he spent outside the city, traveling, he didn't bother with much in the way of groceries.

After lunch, he boxes up all the books in the workroom, carefully labeling each box with a level of danger. The best course of action would probably be to burn them all rather than risk them being misused (used at all) in the future, but there's a small chance they might be useful to someone, someday, so for now—boxes.

The red book he puts in the box marked _'Highly Dangerous—Do Not Attempt At Home!'_ He already copied out page 249 earlier, double- and triple-checked to make sure he had it all, that he hadn't missed anything.

Most of the rest of the workroom is harmless on its own. Tim knows he should box up his father's collection of… _interesting_ artifacts as well, but they've always given him the willies, and he's not entirely certain which are safe to touch. Best to leave that for the experts.

After the workroom, he sits down at the dining room table and writes a letter.

It's the hardest thing he's ever done, harder than tracking down Nightwing, than seeking out (failing to meet) Batman. Harder than biking to the cemetery, intent on digging. He hopes he conveys the gravity of the situation, the respect he feels, the importance of everything (everyone).

There's a lot of erasing, crossing out, starting over. He regrets unplugging his computer—this would be so much easier if he could type it, so much faster. At the same time, it's important that this be done by hand, and he can always make a new, clean copy when he finishes. If he finishes, if he doesn't run out of time. If he isn't already too late.

The finished product he folds in thirds and shoves in an envelope, labels the outside. Doesn't bother to seal it, because it's not going anywhere.

It's after midnight when he finishes. He's not satisfied with the results, but he doubts he can improve it much if at all, and he needs to get some sleep, needs to be rested and ready for what's to come. 

He finishes the ham and the rest of the beans. Rinses out the cans and puts them in the recycling. Goes to bed.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, after a fitful night of dreamless sleep, he does the ritual.

 

* * *

 

> _Dear ~~Jason~~ ~~Mr. Todd~~ ~~Ro~~ Jason,_
> 
> _Sorry about this, it's not what I had planned, what I wanted for you, but I wasn't fast enough to get your own body and I figured this was the next best thing. It's better than nothing, right?_
> 
> _First of all—don't worry, I didn't have to hurt anyone to bring you back. Ensoulment/soul-exchange requires the sacrifice of willing innocent, and believe it or not, self-sacrifice totally counts! Yeah, I was surprised by that too._
> 
> _Now, to the basics: My (your) name is Timothy Jackson Drake, son of Jack and Janet Drake, local archeologist and businesswoman, heads of Drake Industries, recently deceased while traveling in the Caribbean. Not exactly the paragons of virtue they made themselves out to be, seeing as how they were avid practitioners of the black arts, necromancy in particular. (More on that inside the packet in the backpack. Trust me when I say you don't want to open the boxes or touch anything in the room around you aside from the pack, though. Even I'm not sure what might happen if you did.)_
> 
> _Anyway, you've been dead for a little over a month. During that time, Mr. Wayne hasn't been doing too well with his nighttime hobby. I asked Mr. Pennyworth about it and he says it's because Mr. Wayne misses you so much and he (Mr. Wayne) doesn't know how to deal with that. I tried to get Dick Grayson to come back to Gotham to help at night, but he said no, so that's why I had to bring you back. (Sorry, by the way. I'm sure you had a really bad time of it and it's not fair you had that happen to you, whatever it was that happened.)_
> 
> _I'm mostly mentioning all that so you have some understanding as to why they might not trust you at first when you go home. If I'd known it was going to end up this way, I wouldn't have made contact with them at all, but I guess hindsight is 20/20 and all that!_
> 
> _Look, you're probably pretty scared and confused and not happy about this (I really am sorry), but right now the best thing you can do is put on the backpack, go up the stairs, and take a cab straight to Bristol. There's a house key in your left pocket and a credit card in your right. Make sure to lock up before you go; a lot of the stuff in the house shouldn't end up in just anyone's hands._
> 
> _Mr. Wayne might be a bit cautious at first, but remind him that, even if you aren't who you say you are, you're still a kid without any parents who knows all about his and Dick's hobbies, so maybe it's not the best idea for you to disappear into the system. I'm not saying you should blackmail him into taking you in, but. Well._
> 
> _Anyway, I hope you have a really great life as Timothy Drake!_
> 
> _Good luck,  
>  Tim_

 

* * *

 

The thing is.

Batman _needs_ a Robin.

Bruce Wayne _needs_ his son.

No one needs Tim Drake.

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rituals of Sacrifice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905157) by [clarityhiding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding)




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